


Caricatures

by Fey_Nikola



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Implied Incest, Masks, Multi, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fey_Nikola/pseuds/Fey_Nikola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nice to have someone else who understands that the blank eyes and the painted porcelain <i>are</i> her face.</p>
<p>There is nothing she wouldn't do for her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two character studies of my all-time favorite Multiplayer character.

He did not make a sound. Perhaps that was for the best, since her brother was waiting outside, and the walls of this room were thin. She was not one for excess noise; it was only useful for appropriate emphasis. Now, it would not be so appropriate.

He had opened only enough of the buttons on his robes to free his cock, and she had merely lowered her tights to mid-thigh before he’d bent her over the crude surgery table and thrust wildly in.

She knew he was not a real doctor - had never gone to a university - but he knew more than enough to heal if he had to. Of course, that was not what Cesare normally bid him do.

He rammed into her hard and fast, gloved hands holding her hips in a steady grip. She pushed back just as hard, her left hand atop his to urge him on, the other pressing against the rough surface of the table for leverage.

It was why when either of them was injured the French twins would come to him, and only him. Cesare did not want them dead so the doctor would treat them. Neither of the twins was the doctor’s preferred type of victim, so there was less to fear from him.

His free hand shifted to her back, pushing her chest down against the table. She resisted, but the feel of him controlling her sent a delicious spark running through her body, and she was nearing the precipice.

Another doctor might be bought by Cesare’s enemies to take out his killers. This one was exactly the same as they were; a killer with interesting hobbies to fill the spare time between murders. It wasn’t trust between them, not exactly, but something much more valuable; understanding.

He tensed and gave a few more jerky thrusts before his body seemed to seize. Her hand left his and lowered between her legs and stroked her clit a few times before she was shuddering and stilling as well.

It was something only she and her brother had ever known before; that without their masks they were just people, just as stupid and as pathetic as all the rest. But with the mask, you become something more; a caricature of humanity and transcendent of its weaknesses.

He breathed and leaned forward, letting the tip of his mask brush against a purple stripe before he gained hold of himself again. She eased her hand out from under her and lay still.

They became more than people, more than human. The Harlequin and the Hellequin. The Doctor. Not just people, but personifications of ideas. The three of them understood, and words weren’t needed between them. It was more precious than love, more rare than total honesty. It bound them in ways that humans couldn’t comprehend. It was why they lived in their masks, their characters. It was why she let him do this, why she did this to him.

Her brother was due for a checkup.


	2. Twins

He’s my brother.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

\-----

Night had fallen two hours hence, and I balanced atop my brother’s foot juggling flaming rings for my audience. He could stand on his off hand only, since our last target had managed to fight back a little and his wrist was still tender. I compensated by lifting my leg in front of me instead of behind; an easier position to balance.

The rings snarled as they passed by my ears and the crowd surged and gasped when it seemed I had missed one. Instead I reached under my leg and caught it an instant before it could strike my brother’s outstretched, wounded arm.

One, two, three more tosses. Then, two behind my back, two in front, flex my foot to warn him and then I throw all five rings high into the sky. I leap forward into a tumbling roll and my brother falls backwards, and of course he is graceful in spite of his injury.

Up onto my tiptoes, then one foot back and nearly over my head, arms upheld as if in benediction. The rings fall perfectly; two on each of my hands and one on my foot. I drop all the rings into the dirt and take my bow to the cheers and disappointed groans of my audience as my brother goes around with our little copper pot.

As the crowd dissipates I fetch my rings and stamp on them to put them out. The jangle of coins in the pot is satisfying, though it comes seldom. The people in Roma are cheap. Thankfully, my brother’s fingers are nimble with ungenerous wallets.

We retreat into the inn named for a fox. I would love to go over to the gamblers in the corner and take advantage of them, but my brother is tense. He needs me more than I need the rush.

I follow.

In our room I put away my tools and our little copper pot. The earnings inside, though small, are all mine. I take pride in them as I secret them away amongst my belongings. My brother waits patiently, seated on the cot. Once everything is hidden and in its place, I go to him.

Kneeling at his feet, I gently take his wrist and carefully remove his glove. Every twitch of his head and shoulders speaks to me, and like a good sister, I listen. His sleeve rolls back easily, and I begin to unwrap his bandages.

I hear his hiss of pain an instant before I hit the floor, my ear aching and blood in my mouth. I tugged too hard. I open my eyes to see him shake out his off hand. My ear rings, but I cannot blame him. He had to avoid my face, you see. It’s very expensive, and the porcelain is so fragile. I sit up again and continue to unwind the bandages, but much more carefully this time.

Finally the purpling bruise is exposed, and he flexes his fingers so we can watch the way his muscles move. Perhaps by tomorrow most of the pain will be gone. I swallow the blood on my tongue and begin to rewrap my brother’s wrist.

The tension in his back and shoulders is still there, so when he pulls me up into his lap I am compliant. His chest presses to my back and his groin to my ass and my legs run parallel to his. My brother wraps his arms around me slowly, one pressed over my sex, the other to my breast. I cover his hands with mine and hold him as best I can while he shakes and trembles.

His face presses its smile against my neck.

It will be a long time before he can sleep.

\-----

His first kill is quick; the throat is slit and the target is dead. I bury my daggers into the spine of the collateral damage and watch as he takes care of the other targets in a frenzy of bloodlust and glee. It’s been too long for him.

The last of the targets he takes his time with, letting her think she can escape before he reels her back in with her long hair. I look around the well-appointed sitting room searching for the crest Cesare bid us retrieve. I appropriate trinkets and some fine handkerchiefs as I look, knowing these once-people have no further use of them.

The crest is engraved into a small statue on the mantelpiece, an upside-down ‘V’ we recently have been sent to search out more and more. I put it in the satchel besides our typical party tools.

My brother’s final target screams shrilly for the last time. Then, there is nothing but gurgling red bubbles. He turns to me, all his tension gone. Though my face is somber, I am smiling as I remember how long my hair used to be.

A little gasp turns both our heads to the doorway.

A small white nightgown. A doll ragged from love. Dark curls tousled from sleep, and dark eyes wide and confused.

My brother falters; his breathing grows hitched and uncertain. Once, I would have left it. But a child left alive is the reason we can no longer return home to France.

It’s my job to take care of the collateral damage.

So I do.

\-----

The torchlight glints off of my brother’s face and the dark pool he sits in. He beckons me with his stillness and, stumbling, I go to him. I will always go to him.

The assassins surround us, but I no longer care. They will serve a final purpose for me, and then we will rest.

I kneel before my brother, and his face, ever-smiling, remains limp against his chest. I wrap my arms around him and place my porcelain lips against his.

Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for him, and I regret nothing.

I don’t even feel-


End file.
